Don't Tell
by dellums
Summary: We've all got secrets, but this... this is different. This is something strictly between Gilbert and his grave, when the time for that comes. Except, the thing about secrets is they seem to have a habit of getting out, and it's really not up to you whether the consequences are favorable or... decidedly not.


_[author's notes.] _

_Request fill for **Loud Mucker Complex**. Sorry about the run-on sentences, you know how it is._

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><p><strong>Don't Tell.<strong>

So, I kind of have a secret. And it's a big fucking secret, too. But it's no problem, right? Everyone has secrets, right?

Right.

And if all those other losers can go their whole lives without telling anyone, so can the awesome me.

Except...

Except it's like it's eating at me from inside my head and devouring my soul and any other reasons I have for living and _fuck_, I want to tell somebody so bad that it actually _hurts_ and I don't think I can go another day, _another hour_, without letting someone know, anyone, even if it's just some random, drunk guy on the street, but this part of town is too nice for random, street-dwelling drunk guys, so I'd have to go all the way to the _other side of the whole town_ and I don't think I'd be able to make it that far without yelling my secret to the high heavens from a rooftop and then possibly jumping from said rooftop because it's just that damn embarrassing.

So you see my dilemma.

I'm kind of at a loss here. Either I tell my secret to the person it revolves around, or I stand here in the middle of my room, staring at my reflection in the stupid mirror and I get to be the lucky guy that is forced to watch his own brain implode.

I don't know about you, but neither of those sounds terribly appealing to me at the moment, thanks. Both would be relatively simple, though. I could stand right here and wait for my mind to commit suicide, or I could walk out of my room, turn left, go down the hall, hang a right and knock on the door right there.

Something stops me, though. I don't know if I'm embarrassed or if I'm ashamed, but either way, my face is turning a shocking shade of pink and I turn away from my mirror, hating everyone and their mother just because I need someone to blame that isn't me.

And then my phone rings. Thanking whatever big dude people believe is flying around in the sky these days for the distraction from my own thoughts, I make a mad dash for my bed and roll over it until I bump into the wall, picking up the phone and saying in my best Chinese accent, "Hello, Oriental Massage Therapy, we rub you right! How may I help you?"

"Ha-ha," the other person deadpans, and I instantly recognize the voice to be Matt's. "Hey, Al wants to know if you're coming to this party tonight."

"... There's a party?" Okay, so I probably should have known. And most of the time I do. But this whole "I have a secret" business has been fogging up my mind for a few weeks now, and everything was blurry and terrible. The whole month had been like a whirlwind of pure vertigo and exhaustion. Social interaction had been like a second priority to me.

I hear Matt snort, because he's the kind of guy that can do that and make it sound attractive. "_Yes_, there's a party. It's at Sadiq's place, eight till whenever."

The clock on my phone reads 7:34 PM, and I roll over, placing my arm over my eyes. "I dunno, Matt, I'm kinda -"

"I heard Ludwig's going."

Whatever I was about to say dies in my throat. I sit up then, and look out my open door, trying to peek down at my brother's room. Ludwig? At a party? I want to laugh, but the sound of his name is still swirling around in my muddled brain.

Matt's humming the Jeopardy music, signaling that I should hurry up and just agree because we both know I'm going to say yes. I frown. He knows about my... secret. I didn't tell him, though. He found out by himself somehow, and uses it on a daily basis to blackmail me. Matt's not a bad guy, he just likes making fun of me. I think the best thing about him is that he doesn't _judge_ me. He doesn't care that I have the hots for my younger brother.

Sighing, I push myself off my bed and nod to myself. "Yeah, okay. I'll be there."

"Cool. See ya, Gil."

Ludwig and I walk out of our rooms at the same time, and I try to play it cool, raising an eyebrow. "Going somewhere, bro?"

"Feliciano is forcing me to go to some sophomore party. I have to go pick him up now." He seems exasperated, and I barely restrain myself from confessing to him right there.

Feliciano. God, I hate that kid. Don't get me wrong; he used to be a pretty cool dude, but he's recently taken a _huge_ liking to Ludwig, who is too much of a pansy to push him away. And it pisses me off, naturally. In my eyes, the dumb Italian's nothing but another obstacle, keeping me from true love. Sometimes, I think the world just wants me to be lonely forever.

"Ahh, great," I say casually, clapping a hand on his shoulder and trying to pretend like my heart isn't pounding from the contact. "I was just headed there, too, to meet up with Matt. Mind giving me a ride?"

He rubs at his temples and nods. "Whatever. Try not to get _too_ drunk this time. You know what happened last time."

I shrug. "It's not _my _fault you can't handle this much awesome," I reply, gesturing provocatively to myself, finishing with a wink.

Ludwig seems unfazed as he blinks and turns, heading down the stairs. "I'll be in the car."

I follow him down a few minutes later, and hop into the passenger seat, kicking my feet up on the dashboard.

"You know Feliciano's going to be angry, right? He doesn't enjoy the backseat." He's staring at me knowingly, like he understands that I'm asking for trouble.

Scoffing, I bury myself deeper into the seat, getting comfortable. "And I should care why? Feliciano's practically a chick; I could knock him out with _one hit_." I crack my knuckles for emphasis.

Pulling out of the driveway expertly, Ludwig spares me a withering glance in the mirror, saying, "Don't hit him; I don't have the time to plan out a funeral right now."

Sadiq's house is thumping from the outside, filled to the brim with people and music. I can see the lights pouring onto the lawn from the inside, and I can hear people splashing around in the pool around back.

Slamming my door, I abandon my brother and Feliciano and stomp around to the backyard. Being in the same car as Feliciano, with his terribly obvious crush on _my_ brother, has put me in a rather foul mood. And I need alcohol. Storming around the sweating, dancing bodies for a few minutes, I finally find Matt, who is standing by himself in a quiet corner. I wave and he smiles back, beckoning me over.

"Hey, you made it," he says happily.

I steal his soda and drink about half of it before handing the can back. "I said I would."

"Right. Hey, uh, Gil?"

I look down at him and raise an eyebrow, wondering why he got nervous all of a sudden. "'sup?"

"Well, being your best friend and all... I was just wondering if you've done anything about your little _secret_ yet."

Crossing my arms, I turn away from him. "I don't see how that is any of your business."

Matt scoffs indignantly, and that alone informs me that he thinks it most definitely _is_ his business. Which isn't true, by the way. Matthew may be my friend, and he may know about my somewhat-indecent crush on Ludwig, but that doesn't mean he gets to poke around in my personal affairs. I mean, it's not like I stop him from doing so, or anything. I'm just angry, and my thoughts don't usually make sense when I'm angry.

"If you don't do it soon, Feliciano's gonna get to him," he mutters into his soda can, trying to freak me out.

Admittedly, I _do_ cringe. "No," I state firmly. "No way. I'm not gonna let that happen. He's obviously not happy with that Italian dumbfuck hanging around him all the time," I spit, gesturing to the dancing, smiling Feliciano.

"That's great and all," Matthew observes lazily, rolling his eyes at me, "but if you don't _make a move_, it's not going to stop any time soon. And then Ludwig will _get used_ to it. And after that, he will _enjoy_ Feliciano's presence, and you, my friend, will be royally screwed."

Sighing, I rub my head. I really don't want to be talking about this right now. It sure is grating on my nerves, and I can feel a headache creeping into the corners of my mind. "If it'll get you off my back, I'll do something, I guess. Sometime this week. Maybe. Eventually."

That seems to satisfy Matthew, and he pats me gently on the shoulder, smiling softly. I don't pay attention when he leaves; my eyes are watching someone far more interesting. _No offense, Matt._

The whole way home, Matthew's stupid words are echoing in my head. _If you don't _make a move_, it's not going to stop any time soon. And then Ludwig will _get used_ to it. And after that, he will _enjoy_ Feliciano's presence, and you, my friend, will be royally screwed._

I really hate it when he is right.

Also, I think Ludwig has caught on to the fact that I'm stealing glances at him in the rearview mirror, because at the next red light, he looks over at me, one of his eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring at me."

"Don't flatter yourself, princess. I was looking out the window," I lie casually, an amused smile lighting up my face.

He looks back to the road and starts driving, unconvinced and unconcerned.

My mind is a bit more excited, however. Well, no, maybe "excited" is the wrong word. My mind is a bit more...apprehensive.

I'm internally battling myself, wondering if I should tell Ludwig now, or if I should continue being a baby and live my entire life aching with unrequited love. The second option is extremely tempting.

But... I know before I actually, _really_ know, that I can't do that. He's gonna find out sooner or later, and it's better if I tell him point-blank, rather than wait for him to walk in on me getting off to a picture of him. Because that would be embarrassing, and my thoughts instantly travel back to that jump-off-a-building track they were on before.

I shake my head as Ludwig pulls into the driveway, seeming exasperated and in need of some sleep. I'm not an idiot; I _know_ how tiring Feliciano can be. All through the party, I was wincing for my poor, poor brother, who looked like he very much would like to bash the Italian's head in with a rock and then perhaps dance on his grave. It was a crude thought, and it made me grin, in a morbid sort of way.

God, I am fucked up.

Ludwig stops the engine and looks over at me pointedly, and I can almost see the headache on his face. "I'm going to bed, Gilbert. Don't invite anyone over, and please restrain yourself from shouting or making any questionable sounds. I don't want the neighbors complaining of orgies or crack-houses again."

"Oh, please. Why would I do that?" I ask as he gets out of the car, and I follow suit.

He glares at me over his shoulder. "I don't know." And then he goes inside.

Cursing under my breath and making up my mind, I dash after him, catching him by the wrist. "Hey, Ludwig?"

"What?" He looks anything but pleased.

"... I love you."

My brother raises his eyebrows, but otherwise shows no emotions. "As unexpected as that was, I love you, too?" It's a question, and I know he doesn't get it, doesn't understand that No, no, not _that_ type of love, you idiot!

I voice my thoughts to him, and my face is probably burning and pink. Dammit.

But I think he's finally caught on that I don't mean _platonic_-love; I mean _love_-love. And I think he caught on because his face is _also_ flushed with pink, and his eyes are clouded over with something that resembles disbelief.

"And... I'm not joking or anything, either," I add, just for good measure, because as horrid as that sounds, it _is_ something I would do.

I guess he's more open-minded than I thought, because the first thing he says isn't something bigot-y, and is instead, "How long?"

Casually dropping his wrist and shoving my hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels, and mumble something incoherent that turns out to be, "Since junior high." Fortunately and unfortunately, I'm telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, scout's honor. That little fact embarrasses me a little.

He stares at me and I stare at the floor, and I'm just waiting for something - anything! - to happen, because, really, the silence is killing me, murdering me in cold-blood, tearing me apart and sizing me up and I hate it with all my heart.

"Look, forget I said anything about it, yeah?" I mutter, at the same time he says, rather quietly, "... Upstairs, then?"

And I blink. And blink. Blinkblinkblink. Stare.

"... What did you say?" I ask, even though I know.

"Nothing," he answers immediately, turning red all over again.

"You said... Did you just... _ask if I wanted to sleep with you?_"

Apparently realizing that he is cornered and that my grin probably means nothing good, he nods shyly, fumbling with his hands a bit, and I make a mental note to remember that he _is _my younger brother, regardless of how mature he seems. "I... I mean, you want to, so I just figured that... Well..."

But he's talking too much, so I tell him so and slam him up against the wall, kissing him breathless. No tongue. No, not yet.

When I pull back, he's breathing fast and his eyes meet mine, and I yank him upstairs as fast as I can with little to no effort. He's not protesting at all, and I'm extremely pleased and surprised all at once when he takes control and backs _me_ into the wall, gentle and unsure.

But all I can feel right then and there are his hands and his hair and his warm breath on my mouth and my neck and I feel the flat wall behind me and I'm pretty sure the light switch is digging into my back, but anyone that thinks I'm going to complain about that now clearly does not know how those hands feel on my bare skin.

It's driving me crazy. Ludwig's tongue is in my mouth and my hands are in his hair, messing with the hair gel and I open my eyes a bit just to see it, because if there's one thing I love more than my brother, it's _my brother with messy hair_. I groan at the sight and latch onto him tighter, pushing myself against him until I can feel his eyelashes on my cheek and until his belt buckle is stabbing into the shallow area of my hip. The motion accomplishes nothing, aside from informing me of what I already know, what I've known for years: I want his pants _off_.

I push him away, and he looks at me, confused. He even has the grace to look a little bothered by what we were just doing. It's anything _but_ awkward for me, however, and I take him by the hand, dragging both of us into my bedroom. Kicking a few things out of the way and hastily shoving stuff off my bed, I grab Ludwig by the shoulders and start kissing him again, and he responds immediately, wrapping himself around me. I realize then that I have trained him well, and could not be more pleased with his actions.

But then I remember that we're probably about to have _sex_, and I really should be thinking about that instead. So I do.

His breathing is getting shallower, I notice, and he's panting and gasping quite a bit. I probably am too, but my attention is focused entirely on Ludwig, Ludwig, Ludwig, nothing but Ludwig. He's giving me a stare full of lust and pleasure and _want_, and in a move I wouldn't have expected from stoic, straight-laced, military-bound Ludwig, he pushes himself up against me, _all of him_, and when his hips grind against mine, I bite down hard on my lip, letting out a slightly-embarrassing whine, and throw him down on the bed without a second thought. Not seeming shocked in the least, he sits up and starts unbuttoning my pants immediately as I pull of his shirt.

In that span of time, it's just me and him together and when I close my eyes, I can see fireworks. Jolts of electricity surge through my nerves, straight to my brain and I _want him_ more than I have ever wanted anyone in my entire life. It's hard to restrain myself from just _taking_ him, because my head is throbbing and my mouth is dry and I know that I'm panting and I can feel nothing but calloused hands and complete, brilliant pleasure.

_Pleasure_.

And we haven't even done anything yet, nothing past innocent touches and light brushes of skin and breathy kisses. If I had known that my brother would react like _this_, I would have gone after him a lot sooner. If only I had _known_ that being with him like this would have made me feel so great; things could have been a lot easier...

In no more than two minutes, we're both on the bed, breathing hard, both a bit warmer down south than we had been a few minutes prior, and I'm looking right at him, my hands planted on either side of his head and everything is right and perfect and as his own careful hands are in my hair, I feel the need to tell him:

"_I love you_," just in case he hasn't gotten that by now.

Seeming unable to form a coherent sentence at the moment, he nods, blue eyes half-lidded as I kiss him slowly along his neck, moving down, down, down. "_I - ahh, m-me too..._"

Nothing matters now. I'm just happy knowing that _he _knows, knowing that he feels the same way, knowing that my secret's out now. It's a huge relief, like a weight's been lifted from my shoulders, and I can breathe easily. I don't have to worry about Ludwig finding out anymore, because he _knows_ and that's all I even care about, all that's even registering in my mind at the moment, right next to his crushing warmth and the taste of his skin.

I mean, I don't even care if we end up doing anything.

... Of course, we had sex anyway, because I'm just that irresistible. And that was nice, too. _Very_ nice.

In the very end, I guess I learned one thing: I should get my parents to invest in soundproof walls, seeing as Ludwig makes a lot of "questionable sounds", and our neighbors like to nag.


End file.
